


Say you don't need no diamond rings (and I'll be satisfied)

by loversinfiniteness



Category: Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn, Rokesby Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: Actually Requited Unrequited Love, Awkward Family Acquaintances to Lovers, Dashing Rake Falls for Practical Miss, Eloping, F/M, Fix-It, Historically Inaccurate, I've Loved You Since Forever, Marriage of Convenience, Non-Canon Relationship, With Surprise Twist: Feelings!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:56:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23494930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loversinfiniteness/pseuds/loversinfiniteness
Summary: Georgiana dared finally to look at Andrew, and thought miserably to herself that the years apart had done nothing. He was still charming and warm and rakish, and she, ever the fool, was still in love.
Relationships: Billie Bridgerton/George Rokesby, Edmund Bridgerton/Violet Bridgerton, Georgiana Bridgerton/Andrew Rokesby
Comments: 9
Kudos: 41





	Say you don't need no diamond rings (and I'll be satisfied)

**Author's Note:**

> When the title for the third Rokesby book came out, I proclaimed that I would eat my hat if 'the other Miss Bridgerton' was not Georgiana. Then it turned out it wasn't. In my rage at this turn of events, I wrote this fic, then left it unedited for a year. Now to anticipate the publication of First Comes Scandal, here it is.

Georgiana Bridgerton sat in the green drawing room of her sister's townhouse and considered her urge to scream. 

Oh, nothing was happening — she was not in danger, unless one counted the perilous way Billie Rokesby née Bridgerton carried three books, a stack of papers and a teacup. But Georgiana had been fighting the urge to scream a lot recently, and it all seemed to come to a head sitting in her sister's lovely town residence, smiling at her sister's loving husband and three children whenever they came into the room, and knowing that at the end of the day she would be in her bed at Bridgerton House, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if all her jokes about becoming the family's maiden aunt were actually becoming true. 

"Georgiana?" said Billie, sitting down, having somehow placed her miscellaneous effects on a table without disaster. "Did you hear me?"

"Sorry," said Georgiana. "I was lost in thought." 

Billie did not seem to mind that Georgiana had not been listening to her. "I asked if you saw Andrew on your walk this morning. Apparently he's been too busy to call on his favourite sister-in-law — a title which Cecilia agrees is mine!" Billie interjected — "because I still haven't seen him. Though I've heard his new scar is quite striking." 

Georgiana was not heading for spinsterdom from lack of offers. She was fairly pretty, fairly rich, fairly well-connected. She simply did not wish to be married.

That is, not to anyone but the one her stupid heart had persisted in wanting for years.

"I suppose we shall finally see him at the ball tonight," said Georgiana calmly. "Surely he would not miss one given in his honour."

"I would not put it past him," said Billie darkly. "Or he'll swan in, two hours late, sample the refreshments and take himself off to whatever depraved male pursuit he has been deprived of from a decade spent in the navy." Billie wrinkled her nose. "What am I saying? In fact, seaport entertainments are supposed to be very amusing, or so I've heard." 

Georgiana's stomach turned at the thought of Andrew amusing himself with unspecified seaport entertainments. "Billie, please." 

Billie shrugged. "I can only imagine _what_ he has been up to, since recently all I've heard from him is silence." 

The door opened. "There you are, darling," said George, Lord Manston, striding into the room. He kissed an area of Billie's head not obscured by hair accessories (though Billie wore much fewer than current fashions dictated), greeted Georgiana and picked up the stack of papers Billie had dropped on the table. 

"I've checked the accounts," said Billie. "Entirely accurate. Hiring Mr Woolridge was an excellent decision."

Georgiana exchanged a look with her brother-in-law. "By all means, congratulate yourself," said George affectionately. He settled himself next to Billie on the sofa. "How goes the playwriting for our upcoming theatre night, my dear wife?" 

Billie narrowed her eyes at him. "I will not discuss our affairs with an opposing team member."

"Even if it is your loving husband?" 

"Especially then. George, don't — George!" 

Then Georgiana was back to wanting to scream. Domestic bliss was all around her and she had had a very trying week: a horrible cold, beastly weather, and the lending library had lost the book she'd reserved four weeks ago. Now Andrew was coming home and she didn't know what to think, how to behave tonight, if he was here for good, whether he'd even show up at the ball. 

Instead, she just smiled and sipped her tea.

* * *

Andrew Rokesby had not refused his brother George's help of finding lodgings out of pride. Or, rather, pride was at the bottom of it, but the more pertinent reason was that he didn't want his brother to see where he lived. Because, unfortunately, he was destitute, and his furniture reflected it. 

He was no martyr though, and when a carte blanche invitation to tea at Manston House was proffered, he intended to take full advantage of it. Their cook made excellent biscuits.

"Captain Andrew Rokesby," announced the butler. 

Andrew stepped into the room. Odd that after being away for ten years, his eyes would drift to the young woman on the sofa who wasn't even looking at him. She turned her head and he realised it was Georgiana Bridgerton. 

His face slipped into an easy smile and the moment quickly passed. 

"Andrew!" exclaimed Billie, jumping up and throwing her arms around him. Her hug went on for ages, then she extracted herself out. George clapped him on the shoulder and told him that his scar looked ridiculous. Dimly he heard the sounds of running upstairs, and then three small humans were all clutching at him, saying: "Uncle Andrew! Uncle Andrew!" He picked them up and swung them around in sequence, until he was forced to stop because George grew worried that a vase would break. 

Andrew looked back at Georgiana. She glanced down quickly and ate a slice of lemon cake which was sitting on her plate. 

"It's splendid to be back in England," said Andrew, once everyone had settled down. "Everything here is as exactly as I remember." He grinned at George and Billie's children. "Except you three, of course," he said, chucking them under the chin. "You've grown so big I hardly recognised you." 

"You look just the same," said Billie. 

"You wound me," said Andrew. "Ten years on a ship does something to a man. Haven't I gained a wearied look behind the eyes? A wanderlust that betrays an unquenchable yearning for the sea?" 

Billie snorted. "We last saw you four years ago, and you're not serious enough for any of that."

Andrew shrugged, and looked back at the still-silent Georgiana.

"So, what finally persuaded you to come back home?" asked Billie, breaking Andrew out of his daze where he very carefully watched Georgiana Bridgerton lick crumbs off her lips. 

He forced himself to act civilised. "Hmm?" he said, uncharacteristically ineloquent. "Oh, well, the food was dreadful."

He was saved from having to outrightly lie further because of a small voice on his left, tugging at his sleeve. "Uncle _Andrew_ ," it said plaintively.

Another small voice joined in. "You _promised_ to tell us how you got it."

"Pleeeease?"

Andrew looked at Billie and George, panicked. Billie drew her finger down the side of her face, mirroring Andrew's scar. 

"Don't tell your papa," he said, bending down to look the young Viscount Kennard and his older sister in the eyes. "But I was in a swordfight."

For her part, Georgiana dared finally to look at Andrew, and thought miserably to herself that the years apart had done nothing. He was still charming and warm and rakish, and she, ever the fool, was still in love.

* * *

Georgiana stood by the wall and wondered if Lord Danbury's wig would fall off before or after he spilled his punch on Miss Featherington. 

Billie swanned over and placed a glass of lemonade in her hand. "You look miserable," she said cheerfully. 

Georgiana felt a nudge of resentment at her sister, who had likely never been miserable in her life. "I feel it too," she said shortly. 

Their mother would have scolded her, but Billie just laughed, and Georgiana felt malicious and unreasonable for resenting her wonderful sister. "You know, I had a Season too," said Billie. "It was difficult at first, but it ended well."

It had indeed. Georgiana was not wholly clear on the details, but several years ago George and Billie had gone to London weeks apart, and had returned engaged. The wedding had been a week later.

"The point is," said Billie, a soft smile on her face, "it will be worth it." 

Georgiana sighed. "Will it? I don't really want to marry any of these gentlemen."

"I know," said Billie sardonically. "Mother was outraged when you turned down Lord Henry."

Georgiana knew that her actions made no sense to the rest of the world. Lord Henry was perfectly acceptable. But he wasn't who Georgiana wanted. 

"We do seem to have started a tradition of unconventional courtships in the family," mused Billie. "Did you know Edmund once gave Violet a flour dusting?" 

Georgiana did not. 

"It was when they were children, of course." 

And now, they had one child and were preparing for another. 

"It's up to you to restore the family's standing and give us a match made under respectable circumstances," said Billie, winking. 

"I don't feel like making a match at all." 

"Or become the beloved maiden aunt," said Billie smoothly. They both watched as one legendary maiden aunt, Lady Philomena Walcott, strode by with enough flowers in her head to fill a funeral wake. 

"I do like outrageous headgear," said Georgiana. She patted her own hair, modest and unostentatious. "Would you let me spoil your children dreadfully?" 

"Of course," said Billie unblinkingly. 

Then, all thoughts of outrageous headgear and maiden aunthood fled Georgiana's mind, because Andrew was approaching. 

"Good evening," he said, bowing. Georgiana and Billie made their curtsies. "Lady Manston, Miss Bridgerton. How lovely to see you again."

"Don't be pompous, Andrew," said Billie airily. "And I'm cross with you. William spent the entire morning acting out a swordfight based on one he believes his uncle partook, which not only irritated the whole household, but also disrupted his Spanish lesson." 

Andrew leaned against the wall. "I can't be held responsible for your child's gullibility." 

"He's only five," said Georgiana thickheadedly, immediately ruining the sparkle of the conversation. 

And so it was going to be like this. All the confidence, self-possession, and occasional wit she'd garnered over the years since she'd first met him melted away when he was standing in front of her, charming and affable and so much her opposite that he reduced her to an awkwardness she knew did herself no favours. 

She steeled her nerves and attempted a recovery. "When _I_ was five, I believed the moon was made of cheese." 

He turned to her. "And now?" 

Georgiana's heart sped. "I believe I was mistaken," she said with dignity. 

Andrew laughed, and relief and pleasure flooded through her. "You needn't be so certain," he said. "Nobody has ever been to check." 

"We'd smell it," said Billie decisively. "If it was. A great hunk of cheese that had been there for thousands of years? The stench would be inescapable." 

"Perhaps we've got used to it," Andrew shot back. "As people in cities are used to the dirtier air."

Billie rolled her eyes and turned to her sister. "Georgiana? You have the casting vote."

Georgiana reconciled herself to the fact that the best conversation she'd ever have with Andrew Rokesby would be about smelly cheese. "Billie is right," she said, not without a certain thrill that she was, in effect, arguing with him. "The moon is not always at the same distance from us. Therefore, the intensity of the smell would change, and we ought to be able to differentiate that." 

"Exactly," said Billie proudly. 

Andrew looked again at Georgiana, who in the course of three minutes had transformed from a nervous wallflower to a young woman with decisively strong opinions about the corporeality of the moon. That, and the sight of her yesterday afternoon in the sitting room at Manston House, were clear markers that sometime in the last few years when he hadn't noticed, she had changed. 

But everything had changed. His father had died. Billie and George were married. And any red-blooded man would find Georgiana Bridgerton, who was pretty and smart and almost certainly unaware of her bold allure — attractive. 

At any rate, he had not intended to approach her the minute he entered the ballroom, but somehow he'd drifted over, and he was immensely glad that he did. "An excellent point," he said. "You have floored me." 

Georgiana looked at him with a direct, intense gaze that made him feel rooted to the spot. "An achievement I shall not take lightly." 

Billie looked between the two of them, her younger sister and her brother-in-law, and wondered what on earth was happening. "Ahem. I believe Mother is calling me." This was a lie. For all she knew, Lady Bridgerton was not even in the room. "Do excuse me." 

Georgiana watched Billie go, leaving her alone with Andrew. That is, alone in a crowded ballroom. 

"Why did you come back early?" she asked. 

He smiled. "I missed my niece and nephews. Even on a ship there is no one as bloodthirsty as the young Lord Kennard. Or," he added, a feminine voice insisting that women could be just as violent as men ringing in his head, "Lady Sarah."

Georgiana said nothing. Usually this was her default response for lack of anything to say, but in this moment she felt that it was the right thing to do. 

"There were some business matters I had to attend to," he said tightly. 

"I did not know you were involved in business," she said. 

"All affairs can amount to business." 

"They can," allowed Georgiana. "But then 'business matters' would be tautological." 

Andrew found himself grasping for a response to her pedantic arguments. "And so it is," he said. 

She said nothing again. 

He put on a winning smile. "I believe they are striking up a minuet." He held out his hand. "Would you do me the honour?"

"Certainly," said Georgiana, and he led her to where the other dancers stood. This was not unusual, she told herself. She had danced with Andrew many times before, and he had basically been obliged to ask after Billie had deserted them with an excuse so thin it could collapse on itself. Why had Billie done that? Georgiana looked over the room and caught sight of her sister in her blue gown, talking to George. Billie waved her fan. 

They lined up with the other dancers. The girl next to Georgiana, Miss Twombley, shot Andrew an admiring look. Georgiana quenched her sting of irritation. Anyone as handsome as Andrew was sure to receive hundreds of admiring looks, and she had no business being irritated. Never mind the fact that Miss Twombley was beautiful — far more beautiful than Georgiana — as well as rich and well-connected, being the granddaughter of a duke. 

The dance ended. Andrew led her to the refreshments, procured her more lemonade, and they stood, watching the next dance. 

She was about to pretend that a friend was calling her, because as strongly as she felt for Andrew Rokesby, it did not do to stand next to him for the whole evening having only had one conversation, and that one being about the caesin quality of the moon. 

"I made an unlucky investment," he said abruptly.

Georgiana paused. 

"A friend from the navy," he said. "He left to start a shipping company. He needed money and I gave it to him — anyway, I don't wish to bore you with the details."

It was on the tip of Georgiana's tongue to say that to be bored with the details was exactly what she wanted. 

"But I suppose I've already begun to do it," he continued, "so I shan't leave the story untold. I received word that there was a shipwreck. Even the most experienced of sailors would've suffered in the weather they had. Now, my only option is to pray for a rich wife, so I can get my affairs in order and buy my commission back. I am otherwise penniless."

Georgiana's mouth fell open. 

"Can't you ask your family for help?" she said, as her brain also processed the fact that Andrew was to be married. Her silly girlhood daydreams would finally be crushed. 

"No," he said, the ferocity of his answer making her draw back slightly. "You can't tell anyone," he said. "I am nine-and-twenty. I do not want to be the family scapegrace for the rest of my life. Swear you won't tell anyone." 

Georgiana looked at him, helpless. 

"I mean it, Georgiana," he said. 

She sighed. "I swear." 

He nodded, and they fell silent. 

"Nobody thinks of you as the family scapegrace," she ventured. 

He looked at her amusedly. "Why shouldn't they? It's the role I've been playing since birth." 

Georgiana itched to tell him that she certainly didn't think of him as that: he was a naval officer, for God's sake, there was hardly anything less scapegrace than risking your life for King and Country. But she felt the enormity of not really knowing him. She knew that her feelings for him were based on moments scattered throughout the years; moments spent in the same drawing room, conversation over dinner, chatter in a ballroom — and most of the time, she hadn't even been the one he was talking to. Now, it was becoming absurdly clear that there was very little she really knew about Andrew Rokesby. 

It gave her a selfish satisfaction that it seemed there was no one who really knew him. 

"Do you wish you could've stayed?" she asked. 

His smile was bitter as he said, "There is no use in wishing what could've happened." 

"But if you married a wealthy woman?"

He sighed. "I shall look, but I wonder if I could find such a woman. In addition to marrying me, I would perhaps do her the further pain of dragging her from her life in society onto a ship. Captaincy is the only thing I can do."

It was clear to Georgiana that Andrew was in a solvable predicament, but the solution, asking George for help, was apparently unacceptable. "I see," she said. 

And then neither of them had much more to say.

* * *

Andrew wondered why he had told Georgiana Bridgerton, of all people, about his Antonio streak of luck. Luckily some instinct about her had been correct, because George did not bring up the matter the next time he saw him, and neither did Billie. 

He took to wife-hunting with reluctant determination. He knew what he was looking for: someone who wanted a liberal, inattentive husband. He wouldn't ask her to come to sea with him; she was free to remain in London and indulge in her amusements. In return, she would be wealthy. She didn't have to be Eliza Whatshername, but any respectable dowry would do. And, of course, he would have to be at least fond of her. And so would his family. 

Over the next week and a half, he attended four balls, two dinner parties and one regretful musicale. It soon became clear his expectations were too high. 

He'd mingled with young ladies and liked a few, but he could hardly imagine marrying one of them. He just didn't understand how you could know someone through a few minutes of superficial conversation twice a week. Considering George had married Billie having known her for most of his life, and Edward had married Cecilia after some madcap scheme wherein she utilised his amnesia by pretended to be his wife having never actually met him, Andrew was sure that his brothers could offer no help on this. And Nicholas was, of course, an infant. 

He'd considered asking his mother for help, but decided he wasn't that desperate yet.

And then, of course, there was the other thing. He must be going mad, because he was thinking about Georgiana Bridgerton with disturbing frequency. And he had told her — only her! — the truth of why he'd returned. Something about her had compelled him to tell her things. 

Then it dawned on him. Georgiana Bridgerton was perfect. Sensible, intelligent, a close friend of the family. If he were to ask for anyone's help in this: it would be hers.

* * *

The Derville ball, given in honour of some engagement Andrew didn't care for, was a positive bore. Luckily, he knew Georgiana would be in attendance, and that hope kept him from leaving to the card tables. 

"Lady Bridgerton, Miss Bridgerton," he said, bowing. They curtsied. "How lovely it is to see you." 

"Lovely to see you too, Andrew," said Lady Bridgerton. "I heard you've been very sociable in town since you returned." 

"I cannot promise it'll last," said Andrew. 

"But of course!" said Lady Bridgerton. "Balls are quite exhausting. We are only at this one at the special bequest of Lady Derville."

"Indeed," said Andrew. "My lady, do excuse the rudeness, but may I please speak with Georgiana alone?" 

"Of course," said her mother. "Why don't you go out onto the terrace?" 

Georgiana could've kicked herself for the way her heart began to beat. Andrew led her out onto the terrace and fetched two chairs. Georgiana sat down carefully. 

"This is, er, building upon the conversation we had at my mother's ball two weeks ago," he said. 

"Oh?" 

"Yes. Well, I'm sure you know, but I've been trying to find a wife, and it's proving rather difficult. I have almost nothing to offer a woman: I am the penniless third son of an earl. Looks and charm are very well in a dance partner, but rich, pleasant, marriageable girls tend to look a little higher. They are also very young, and tend to be boring." 

"Then find someone older," said Georgiana. 

"A rich widow?" Andrew smiled. "That would be the dream, but it is hardly fair of me to charm them with my wit, then deprive them of it when I away to sea."

"Then find yourself a rich lover," said Georgiana. "End your arrangement when you have enough to buy back your commission." 

Andrew almost choked on his drink. "I beg your pardon?" 

Georgiana shrugged. "Lord Finley died recently." 

"Georgiana, how do you even — "

Georgiana rolled her eyes. "Andrew, I am not fresh out of the schoolroom. And I have Billie for my sister." 

"True," he said, a little bewilderedly. Georgiana Bridgerton was surprising him more and more. Again, he was realising how much had changed in the years since he'd left. 

Georgiana sipped her lemonade. "So was that what you wanted to talk about?" 

He cleared his throat. "Yes. Thank you for your… advice." 

"You are welcome," she said. 

"Right." A silence. "Well, I suppose we'd better go back inside." 

"I suppose."

* * *

Later that evening, Georgiana was in bed and flicking through the final volume of _Evelina_ when it came to her. 

She scrambled to sit up. Her heart beat with the enormity of what she was considering. But her dowry was considerable, she was quite sure he didn't despise her, their families were already closely acquainted… 

Good heavens. She was thinking about marrying Andrew Rokesby. Only this time was different to any other time she'd thought about marrying Andrew Rokesby, because this time he wasn't immediately about to go off to sea, and she had money, and it was more than enough to support them. She was sure Andrew had some kind of allowance from the family anyway. George would not let his brother go destitute. And he hadn't lost his money through gambling or women or some kind of debauchery: it had been a leap of faith repaid in horrid luck. 

She leapt out of bed and wrapped a cloak around herself as she paced across her bedroom floor. It was such a ridiculous idea — but so ridiculous it might work? There were far more absurd ways to begin a marriage, anyway, and she glanced at _Evelina_ for proof. Never mind that that was a novel and this was real life. Edward and Cecilia had been brought together after Cecilia pretended to an amnesiac Edward that she was his wife. Her plan, a marriage of convenience, was much less shocking. 

Georgiana began to feel giddy. She'd never imagined that she would be considering this course of action. But a few nights ago, winning that argument, Andrew telling her something no one else knew, had done wonders to her confidence. A plan began to unravel in her head, as easily as if it had always been there. She'd send him a missive, asking him to meet her in the park. St. James's would do. She began to prepare a speech in her head and as she did so, she completely convinced herself of it. It was a brilliant idea, with excellent outcomes. She'd finally be free of her mother's coddling. Andrew's financial troubles would be solved. 

And in the back of her mind, a little voice reminded her that there was also the small matter of her being in love with him. 

She shook her head. That was really nothing more than a youthful infatuation. If they actually married, she'd probably be more worried about hating him. Billie often said marriage was unbearable unless one was really in love with the person they were married to. All things considering, Georgiana thought she and Andrew would rub along fairly well. And if they didn't, he would eventually go to sea. 

She got back into bed. Tomorrow, she would send him a message. And perhaps he would say no, and she would hang her head in humiliation for the rest of her life whenever she was around him. 

She almost thought she didn't care. The excitement of resolving something so vast and monumental had made her giddy. For the first time in her life, she was doing something mad and brave and potentially regrettable. 

She smiled, thinking of what her mother would say if she knew what was going through her daughter's head. No one had any idea what was in her. She'd barely known herself.

* * *

Andrew had just woken up when a knock came at the door. 

"Enter," he said. Before him stood one of the Bridgertons's footmen. 

"Ah, James," he said. "What is it?" 

"A message for you, sir." He held out a nondescript piece of paper. 

Andrew sat up and rubbed his eyes. He unfolded the paper and read the message. Then he read it again. 

He looked up to see James was still standing there. 

"You can go," he said. 

James left. 

Andrew stared down at the paper. _Please meet me at the entrance to St James's Park, 9am. I have something I wish to discuss with you. GB._

It was not a very obviously feminine hand, though the faint scent of roses attached to the paper suggested that this was a woman's writing. GB? He scrambled to think of someone —

 _Oh_. Good God, this must be Georgiana Bridgerton. 

Bloody hell. Not only was she cropping up in his thoughts for no reason, she was now cropping up in his life. 

He considered her. He thought about what she'd said in that ridiculous conversation about the moon and cheese, and how he really couldn't think of a response to her point about the moon moving because a large part of his brain had gone to thinking about brushing up a lock of hair that had fallen over the nape of her neck. Attraction was dangerous enough, but he had also found himself confiding in her multiple times. He wondered why on earth he'd decided to tell her about his rotten luck and terrible investment. They'd known each other for years, but they were hardly close in the way he was close to Billie. 

He squinted at the clock. It was a quarter past eight. Slightly terrified of what was about to befall him, he started to dress.

* * *

Georgiana had timed her arrival to be shortly after 9. She did not want to arrive before Andrew, and stand there as he meandered along towards her. As she sat in the carriage she was beset by fears that someone else had intercepted the message, he wouldn't turn up, or that the coachman was a spy planted by her family specifically to root out the possibility of her driving to a park to propose marriage to a man in need of her dowry. 

When she arrived, all those fears were swept away by the biggest one of all: that he would say no. 

It was too late now. She could hardly make up something else that would befit the level of drama she'd created for this. She left her carriage and maid at a suitable distance, and walked to where Andrew stood, legs crossed and arms folded, the picture of idle handsomeness. 

"Good morning," she said, trying to maintain her composure.

He smiled. "Good morning."

"Indeed," she said, falling back on that versatile word. She lifted her chin and steeled her nerves. "I have come to propose."

"Propose what?" he asked. 

She took a deep breath. "Marriage." 

She took it as a win that he did not run from the spot, shouting that she was a lunatic. 

"Marriage," he repeated dumbly. "To me. I'm flattered, darling, but also feeling very emasculated." 

"This is not to stroke your masculinity," she shot out. At Andrew's amused grin, she blushed, and knew blindly that she had said something that could be construed in an inappropriate manner. "I have a list of reasons," she continued. 

He placed a hand on his heart. "So this is what it is like to be romanced."

"Will you please be serious?" she asked. "You told me you are financially ruined. I have a large dowry. I believe we like each other enough to be married." She left out the part where she had been infatuated with him for years. "I am two-and-twenty and with every Season, it is less and less likely that I will catch a husband. I cannot live at home forever, because I will go insane. If we married, I would be a pleasant wife, and I trust that you would be a good husband." She soldiered onto the harder part. "If you would like to have mistresses, I would not mind. I only ask that you — "

"Georgiana," he said, and caught her hand. She tried not to feel a thrill at the way he said her name. "Georgiana," he repeated, and this time it was lower, tickling the side of her throat. "Are you sure you know what you're saying?" 

"Do not condescend to me," she said. "I am a woman. No one knows the importance of marriage more than us." 

He sighed and released her hand. "Yes, of course. But surely… surely you have better options than an impoverished former naval captain." 

"Not at present," lied Georgiana. In fact, she probably could retract her refusal and marry Lord Henry, who was at least financially stable. She continued. "It would have to be an elopement, of course." 

"Of course," he echoed. "Why?" 

She gave him a look. "Can you afford a lengthy courtship?" 

"You deserve one," he said softly. 

She swallowed. "I am sure I will do quite well without. Also, an elopement means we will not have to deal with our families asking questions."

Andrew rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You might have told me to prepare myself for this in your missive." 

"I had to be ambiguous to allow for an element of intrigue," said Georgiana. Her heart was still hammering, but somehow she had managed to hold onto sarcasm as a last refuge. "Will you at least think on it?" 

"One of us has to," he muttered.

Georgiana magnanimously allowed him that comment. "Thank you," she said. "If you agree, we will discuss the details at a further point."

Then she curtsied, he bowed, and she swept away into the carriage waiting for her. She seated herself and ordered the driver to take her back to Bridgerton House. And as she breathed slowly, calming her racing heart, she felt _magnificent_. 

She'd done it! She'd proposed! She told herself it was unreasonable to expect an answer from him straightaway, so by all accounts, it was a success so far. She laughed madly. And he hadn't laughed — well, he had, but only a little, and it was more in shock than in mockery. He might say yes. He could say yes. He hadn't said no, had he? 

Georgiana tried to tell herself to quash her silly hopes. She, Georgiana Bridgerton, married to Andrew Rokesby? Ten years ago it was all she wanted. And now it was teetering on the brink of reality.

* * *

God help him, but he was thinking about it. Now that he had time to get used to the idea, it had stopped being absurd, and started being… well. Desirable.

Marriage was certainly his plan. Georgiana's earlier suggestion of finding a rich lover did not sit well with Andrew, and he could imagine how George would react. Besides, he'd always thought he'd be married at some point. It had worked out well for George, Mary and Edward, and now Andrew was next. And why not Georgiana? She was intelligent and could hold a conversation. He could also admit he was attracted to her. He didn't love her, but there were a great many marriages that were successful without love. 

By the end of the day, after reviewing his finances one last miserable time, he was almost ready to say yes. 

He sent her a missive asking her to meet him at Manston House the next morning. There was just one last thing he wanted to know…

* * *

Georgiana sat in the drawing room at Manston House, desperately hoping that neither Billie nor George would walk through the door and enquire what on earth she was doing here. 

At last the door opened and he appeared. 

"Finally," she said, standing up. "You shouldn't have taken so long. What if George or Billie had come in?"

Andrew smiled at her. "I bribed the servants." 

"You have no money!" 

"With material possessions," he said. "I do own more than just the clothes on my back."

"I'm glad to hear it," retorted Georgiana, and surprised herself with her own response. The more time she was spending around Andrew alone, the more she seemed to know what to say. She was usually only like this around Billie. "So, what did you want to tell me?"

He looked so relaxed, so composed, leaning against the wall and looking down at her from his considerable height. Her stomach almost ached at how handsome he was. "The answer is yes," he said. 

Georgiana felt her chest expand and twist up at the same time. So it was really happening. In a few days she would be married. 

"There's just something I have to know," he said. 

She felt herself deflate. Warily, she said, "What?" 

He smiled. "Don't use that tone. I think you'll enjoy it."

"You can hardly presume I'll enjoy something I don't even — "

She stopped talking. Andrew had pulled her against him and she gripped at his shoulders for balance while his hand found her jaw and tilted her face upwards. She found she was not breathing, and realised what was happening just as his mouth brushed against hers. 

She gasped and hoped desperately that Andrew had made an excellent bribe to the servants, because she could hardly imagine surviving the mortification if Billie or George walked in right now —

"Stop thinking," he said against her mouth. "I can _feel_ you thinking." 

She didn't have time to frame a retort because his mouth was against hers again, only this time more insistent. His hands ran down her back and pressed her into him, and she responded to him with gasps and sighs, grasping in the dark for what to do as he tugged a lock of her hair free and his tongue played along the edges of her mouth. 

So this was kissing, she thought belatedly. 

Her eyes flew open in outrage when he pulled away. "I think that's enough," he said throatily, whilst Georgiana thought the exact opposite. "My answer is yes." 

She nodded, dazed. She resisted the urge to touch her lips in what would surely be unbearable naivete. People kissed people all the time. It was clearly not meant to be the ground-shaking event she'd experienced. 

"Right," said Georgiana. She forced herself to think. "So. We are to be married."

"Indeed," said Andrew. "I trust you have a plan ready at hand." 

Georgiana raised an eyebrow. "You think I concocted a plan without having your consent for the marriage?" 

"I do," said Andrew. 

He wasn't wrong. "Well," she said, with dignity. "When do you want to be married?" 

He grinned. "As soon as possible." 

"Right," said Georgiana. She cleared her throat. "It will take me a few days to prepare. If we leave early on Tuesday, we can reach Scotland by Friday." 

"Oh, God. An anvil wedding. Poor Nicholas; my mother will surely force him to have the audacious society wedding the elder three escaped." 

"I will tell my mother I have gone to visit Edmund and Violet. You will tell yours you have caught a cold." 

"In June?" 

"Fine. I had thought a cold would draw less attention than diphtheria, but I leave it up to you." 

"A summer cold is very common," said Andrew. 

Georgiana ignored him. "With any luck, no one will suspect a thing until we return. Our mutual disappearances may not be connected to each other. Not even Billie knows about my — " she caught herself. "My plan," she amended hastily. 

Andrew gave her a curious look. "I would hope not. Billie would tell George, who would tell mother, and the three of them would force us to have the banns read and wait a torturous three weeks." He grinned at her. "Which I wouldn't mind, of course. I only think of you, who clearly cannot wait to — "

Georgiana stood up. "Tuesday morning, eight o'clock sharp. Can you hire a carriage?" 

"Of course. How will you explain to your mother your not taking one of your own carriages?" 

"I will say Violet sent one to further coerce me into visiting her." 

Andrew said nothing. 

"Is something the matter?" asked Georgiana. 

"No," said Andrew. He smiled. "Not at all. Good day, Miss Bridgerton. I will see you bright and early on Tuesday."

* * *

She left Manston House thankfully without bumping into Billie, George, or any of their children. 

"Georgiana!" said Lady Bridgerton, when Georgiana arrived home. "Where were you all morning? There are several letters come for you."

"I was at the park, Mama," she said. 

Lady Bridgerton seemed to believe this. "All right," she said. "The letters are on your boudoir. Violet has sent two." 

Georgiana thanked heaven for this twist of fate, and set off to her bedroom. She wrote Violet a long, frantic reply and prayed it reached her soon. Then she packed a valise for eight days, gave her maid an impromptu holiday, and waited for dinner. 

At dinner, she told her parents that Violet had invited her to stay with her and Edmund for a week. 

"In the middle of the Season?" asked her mother. 

"She says Edmund believes she is lonely," said Georgiana, improvising wildly. "She thinks my presence will soothe his nerves. Apparently he was even more overprotective than this when she was pregnant with Anthony." 

Lady Bridgerton looked at her husband. "My lord?"

"I've no objection," said Lord Bridgerton.

"Well," said Lady Bridgerton. "All right, you can go."

Georgiana breathed a sigh of relief that she wouldn't have to present the letter she'd faked. "Thank you, mother. Violet said Edmund was sending a coach." 

On Tuesday morning, Georgiana got into the coach that was not sent from Edmund and waved her parents goodbye. She held her breath until it stopped at Manston House and Andrew got in. 

"Ready?" he said. 

Her heart was thumping madly and she couldn't sit still. She looked at him, leaning calmly against the side of the carriage. His easy smile graced his face, and he looked calm and confident. Unflappable. Someone she could rely on. 

"Ready," she said. 

"Good-o," he said. He knocked on the roof of the carriage. "To Gretna Green."

* * *

Violet had been sitting on the sofa reading that letter for what felt like forever, Edmund thought. Normally she did not like to be disturbed when receiving correspondence, but he thought this time she might make an exception. 

"Darling," he said, throwing aside his book of Aristophanes's plays. "Who on earth is that fascinating letter from?" 

"My secret lover," she said blandly, eyes still on the letter. 

He pecked her cheek affectionately. "Do I know him?" 

She sighed and cast the sheet aside. "I'm in a pickle." 

"With the lover? You don't want me to duel him, do you? Billie's a much better shot than I, but I suppose she'll be my second…" 

"Stop it!" said Violet, giggling. Then she turned serious. "The pickle is the author of this letter wants me to keep a secret from you." 

"I see," said Edmund, though he really didn't. Violet was obviously going to tell him. 

"Oh, fine," said Violet, giving up the secret with absolutely minimal coercion. "It's from Georgiana." 

"Georgiana?" Edmund frowned. His quiet, unmarried younger sister was the last person he'd have thought to hold secrets. "Is she in trouble?" 

"I don't think so," said Violet. "But, ah, she's asked me to pretend to your family that she's staying with us." 

Edmund's eyebrows shot up. "So she isn't at home… if she's run off with some blackguard, I swear I'll hunt him down." 

Violet patted his shoulder. "Hardly a blackguard." Too late, she realised her mistake. "That is to say — not that she's run off — oh, _drat_. You might as well know. But if you tell anyone else, I will not kiss you for a week." 

Violet was gratified that Edmund realised the seriousness of this threat. "All right," he said. Then she handed over the letter. 

" _Andrew Rokesby_? George's brother?" 

"Captain Andrew Rokesby," corrected Violet. She felt she ought to vouch for him a little. "When we met, I thought he was very pleasant."

"Oh, hell," said Edmund. Violet clapped a hand over his mouth, because it was at this moment their infant son Anthony had escaped his nursemaid's clutches and toddled into the room. 

"Hello, dear," said Violet, picking him up. She shot Edmund a look. "And what have you been up to today?" 

Anthony giggled as Violet blew kisses on his stomach. Edmund, usually entranced when Violet played with their son, was at present distracted. 

"So you propose we do nothing?" he demanded. "While my sister runs off to Gretna Green with _Andrew Rokesby_?" 

"Not do nothing," said Violet demurely. "But I think it's very romantic. And we know the Rokesbys. Lady Manston would never raise a son who'd turn out a blackguard." 

"Regardless," said Edmund, "what decent fellow elopes with a young, gently bred woman? How do you know she isn't making a horrible mistake?"

"Miskate!" said Anthony happily. 

Edmund and Violet stared at each other, all thoughts of Georgiana and her perilous future forgotten. 

"Oh, you clever boy!" said Violet, hugging her son. 

"He _would_ make a mistake out of the word 'mistake'," said Edmund indulgently. 

Anthony shook his head and grinned. "Miskate!" he repeated.

"Now he's going to say it wrong forever. Anthony, my lad, it's _mistake_."

"Perhaps he means Miss Kate," suggested Violet. "Like the nursemaid."

"Oh, dear God," said Edmund. "Sixteen months old and already with an eye for nursemaids." 

As if on cue, the nursemaid appeared. "Begging your pardon, sir, madam, but I turn my back for one second only to find that the young sir's escaped and — "

"It's all right, Kate," said Edmund. "We know he's a nightmare." 

The nursemaid led Anthony away. 

"Back to the matter at hand," said Edmund, waving the letter. "You really propose we do nothing?" 

"Or wait until enough time has passed that nothing can be done," said Violet. "Andrew Rokesby has been at sea, and Georgiana is very intelligent. They are not in danger. And one more scandalous marriage cannot hurt, I think." 

Edmund covered his face in his hands. "Are you _sure_ that Andrew Rokesby isn't going to ruin my sister?" 

"Positive," chirped Violet. "And Georgiana explained they wanted to elope so they could have the day to themselves. It's all rather romantic."

"Good God," said Edmund after a while. "I'm going to let my baby sister marry in some dingy Scottish blacksmith's."

* * *

They had been travelling for five hours when they made the first stop. Andrew shook Georgiana awake as softly as he could. She stirred and mumbled something into his neck, which did terrible things to his self-control. 

He had been alternately thinking about and refusing to think about their wedding night. The kiss he'd demanded from her two days ago played on his mind endlessly — the way she sighed, the feel of her body against his — and now he faced the prospect of a three day journey alone with her in a very small carriage. 

She snapped awake quickly. "Oh," she said. "Are we stopping?" 

"Just for a bit," he said. "We need to change horses. You should step out and stretch your legs. Would you like something to eat?" 

Georgiana's stomach betrayed her. She looked down, embarrassed. 

He laughed. "Me too. Come on, let's go inside." 

Lunch was some surprisingly good chicken. Georgiana sipped the wine cautiously. 

"So, did you decide on diphtheria in the end?" she asked. 

He waved his hand. "No, because Billie would've forced down the door. They believe I am visiting a friend in Bath." 

"Do you have any friends in Bath?" 

"Apparently." 

She smiled in spite of herself. 

"Violet should've received my letter by now," she said nervously. "I tried to appeal to the romantic in her, so hopefully she won't tell anyone. Anyone apart from Edmund, of course. I had no hope she'd be able to keep it from him." 

Andrew delicately ignored the second half of what she'd said. The various family love matches were not a topic he thought either of them wanted to discuss. 

But he couldn't stop himself from asking about the letter. "Her romantic side?" 

"Yes," said Georgiana, and blushed. She fought it valiantly though. "I made it subtle, but I implied there was a searing passion between us." 

"Interesting," said Andrew. He began to trace circles with his thumb over her hand. "Do you think they'd believe us?" 

"I could not possibly answer that," said Georgiana, forcing the nervousness out of her voice. 

He leaned forward. It was a thankfully narrow table, and he could see the freckles splattered down the side of her nose. "Would you like to experiment?"

Georgiana swallowed. 

"Preferably not in a posting inn," she said, when she found her voice. 

He sat back as if nothing had happened. "As you say." 

She felt disappointed that he'd recovered so quickly. He'd probably laugh to know that her heart was beating furiously and she felt prickly everywhere. Clearly for him it was just an act, a part to throw on: that of the flirtatious gentleman. 

She found herself frustrated that she still didn't know the real Andrew Rokesby. Surely there had to be something inside of him which wasn't an act. She was marrying the man in three days, and he still maintained the distance he held the rest of the world between the two of them as well. She told herself she _would_ find a way to break through it. 

"We should get back," she said. 

"Yes," he said. Minutes later, they were inside the carriage, with fresh horses and full bellies. The driver cracked the whip and they were off. 

"Andrew," she said, settling into a comfortable position. "Are you decided you will buy your commission again?" 

He shrugged. "If I can. I'm not much good at anything else." 

She turned to him, frowning. "What do you mean? I'm sure you have other interests." 

He smiled. "It's too late in the day to change careers. And I like the Navy. I'm proud to serve there." 

"I see," said Georgiana. 

"You could come with me," said Andrew. "Travel the world. We see a lot of places." 

"I could," said Georgiana. But one hardly had to be married to a naval officer to travel. 

She was still certain of her choice. Being married, even if her husband was never at home, would give her the independence she so desperately wanted and needed. She wanted to run a household and consult with the housekeeper. She wanted to go where she wanted, wear things she thought were nice even if they were outrageous, and not have to sneak books into her room, terrified that her mother would see and ban her from the lending library. Andrew was a sure bet of a good husband because she already knew him. But she had begun to wonder if she should have made more demands of him before he agreed to her plan. She was confused and bewildered by what she felt for him: it was something of a mix between infatuation, frustration, trust and hope. She was not so foolish to believe it was love. She knew what love was: she saw it in her siblings every day. It was not what she felt for Andrew. 

She felt her eyelids droop. There was something about a moving carriage that had always made her sleepy, no matter how rocky the road. She leaned against Andrew's firm shoulder and felt his arm wrap around her to pull her closer. 

"Tired again?" he asked. 

"Mm-hmm," was her eloquent response, and the last thing she remembered before she fell asleep.

* * *

They stopped again and she'd dozed off as soon as they got going. When Andrew shook her awake for the third time that day, it was dark outside. 

"What time is it?" she asked. 

"Half ten," he said. "We'll stay here for the night." 

She nodded. After almost a full day of sleep, she'd recovered from her past two sleepless nights. He helped her down from the carriage and she watched him talk to the driver. Then they went into the inn. 

"My sister and I would like somewhere to stay," he said. 

The innkeeper snorted. "She's not your sister. Eloping, are you? Best of luck." 

Andrew's face adopted that charming smile. "You're a perceptive man, Mr…"

"Crumb," he said. "Mind me asking yours?" 

"Now, now, Mr Crumb, don't force me to lie to you. I would hate to do you the dishonour." 

Crumb sighed. "I suppose you fine people'll be wanting the best room and willing to pay whatever price?" 

"You manage to read me again, Mr Crumb," said Andrew cheerfully. "If I may do you the additional trouble, some hot water too?"

* * *

Georgiana thought Andrew had charmed Mr Crumb. Why, then, did the room they were given smell of ale, and why, then, was there only one bed? 

"I'll take the floor," said Andrew automatically. 

Georgiana cursed her foolish, sympathetic heart. "Oh, no," she said. "You must've been awake the whole journey if I was sleeping. You cannot sleep on the floor. It would be too uncomfortable."

"Georgiana…" 

She smiled brightly. "We will be married in two days. I see no reason to stand on principle." 

If Andrew had been more of a gentleman, he would've continued to argue. He wasn't, and accepted her insistence. 

"I shall be but a minute," said Georgiana, and disappeared behind a screen. He heard the splashing of water as she washed. 

Andrew plucked at his cravat and wondered how on earth he would survive the night.

* * *

He soon learnt that there was no torture quite like sharing a bed with a woman you were frightfully curious about making love to, but were prevented from doing so by circumstances. Propriety. Common sense. 

He'd abandoned his self-denial long ago. Georgiana Bridgerton was beautiful and had responded to his kiss with disarming passion. Easy familiarity and deep-rooted attraction were not bad pillars on which to build a marriage. He could speak of many married couples with much less. 

Georgiana drifted off soon enough, which made it easier for him as he lay there next to her, ragingly hard and unable to do anything about it. It felt sordid to deal with it himself as she lay next to him. Also, she was a light sleeper, and Andrew did _not_ want for her to wake up and see him doing something he ought to do in private. 

They were to leave at first light. He dressed first to give her more time, then gently shook her awake. 

Everything was worse today. Though it didn't rain, it was a miserable shade of grey outside that permeated the mood. He who had spent nights on deck battling the pouring rain felt restless and jittery just from a night sleeping beside Georgiana. 

Naturally, she noticed that something was wrong. 

She eyed him as he fidgeted restlessly. "Are you all right?" she asked. 

Trust her to do away with delicacy. 

"Fine," said Andrew gruffly. 

She said nothing, which only irritated him more. 

"Really," he said. "Nothing you could help with anyway." 

This was a bad thing to say, because it sparked a special part of Georgiana that apparently loved a challenge. "Why not?" she demanded. She reminded him so much of Billie when she said: "Is it because I'm a woman?" 

"It's precisely because you're a woman," he shot back, regretting the damning words even as he was saying them. 

"What does that mean?" she asked. Her words held curiosity, but they were not intrusive. They were just like her: clear, unconniving, honest. 

"Nothing," he said shortly, clearly lying. Then — "Damn it," he said. He moved closer. " _Georgiana_."

She found herself being pulled into his lap and thoroughly kissed. His hands ran through her self-done coiffure until it fell limply and he pulled out pins until it ran down her back. He leaned back and took a breath. 

"You're beautiful," he said. "I could look at you forever." 

Georgiana found that she could not speak. 

"Really," she managed. "I had — I had no idea you — "

He leant forwards again and pulled her mouth to his. She squirmed in his lap, trying to get closer. He pressed hot kisses down the side of her neck and she arched to give him more room. She threaded her fingers through his thick, dark hair, ruining the artful curls. His mouth left her neck and she moaned in protest. 

"We're in a carriage," he said. 

"Yes, I know," she replied, disappointed that she was only managing monosyllables. 

"Georgiana," he said slowly, as if steadying himself with the syllables of her name. "Do you know — do you know what to expect on your wedding night?"

She turned a light shade of pink. "With Billie for a sister, do you really expect I don't?" 

"Of course," Andrew muttered. "And in great detail, I expect." 

"I suppose," said Georgiana faintly. 

"I won't ravish you in a carriage," he said after a while. "You deserve better." 

"Oh," she said. 

She thought now was probably a good moment to climb off his lap. 

"I only have to wait two days," he said with an ironic smile. "I think even I can manage that." 

Georgiana smiled awkwardly back. Inside, she was an emotional mess. Andrew _wanted_ her. She'd had no idea. She hadn't known what to make of the kiss and thought it was probably some experiment where he was controlled and wanted to see what he could do to her. But his voice a few moments ago had been deep and ragged — anything but controlled. He _wanted_ her. She'd never felt womanly before. It gave her a thrill. 

She settled a fair distance from him on the carriage seat and smiled.

* * *

"Why did you invest so much in the shipping company?" Georgiana asked. 

They were having lunch in another inn. She thought they might be near Manchester, which meant they had just under two days until she was married. Provided, of course, something hadn't happened which meant her father, or more likely, Edmund or George, was currently chasing them up to Gretna Green. 

Andrew shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." 

"I see," said Georgiana. 

He sighed. "Derring was — well, he saved my life," he said gruffly. "I was asleep in the cabin when a storm hit, and I would've drowned. He went below deck and dragged my sorry arse out. Then he was shot. Lost a leg. I owed it to him." 

Georgiana understood a blood debt. But to give him _all_ the money he had was surely a bit irresponsible. 

"And maybe I shouldn't have given him everything I had," said Andrew, staring at the wall behind her. "But if he hadn't saved my life, I wouldn't even be here to quibble about it." 

Georgiana nodded. 

"But that's me," he said, mouth tilting up in that way which made her want to reach out and pull him against her. "Dashing, reckless Andrew Rokesby."

"I wish you would stop doing that," she said. The words were out before she realised what a transgression she was making. She stared at him, daring him to probe further. 

"Doing what?" he asked. "This devastating smile? Worried that you won't be able to resist me?" 

"Exactly that," she said. "Deflecting. You might've done a reckless thing, but I think it was quite honourable. I wish you would allow yourself to feel that." 

He gave her an odd look. "Do you? Think it was honourable?" 

"Of course," said Georgiana, almost angrily. She stabbed her meat pie. "If I didn't, why would I be persuading you to think so?" 

"A reasonable rationale," he said. "But I think you're doing the same thing." 

"I assure you if I ever performed heroic antics, I would not waste breath on false modesty."

"First honourable, now heroic? By God, you must think the world of me."

Why was he doing this? His lazy grin stretched over his stupid, handsome face, purposefully made to infuriate her. She was trying to be kind, trying to make him see that there was more to him than he pretended, and he was throwing her words back by retreating into his endless charm. "Forget it," she said. If he insisted on maintaining this distance during their marriage, she didn't know what she'd do. 

Andrew drank his ale and watched Georgiana as she refused to look at him. He knew what she was doing. She was trying to coax some long-hidden self-esteem out of him, and he was refusing to let her do it. In all his time knowing her, he'd always felt slightly unsure around her — because he'd make an outrageous claim and everyone would laugh, except Georgiana; she'd turn her serious gaze on him and softly ask him for the truth. So for the last few years he'd thought she disliked him, or at least dismissed him as a jokester, not serious — not that he would have any reason to mind, because that was exactly how he wanted to be seen. But then there had been that conversation at the ball, when she, very gravely, had won their argument about the moon and cheese, and he'd wondered how her seriousness and his lack of it had collided so that _she_ came out the victor. 

"I'm sorry," he said.

She looked up. "What?" 

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "It's a force of habit, I think. It's easier to be charming than admit responsibility for your mistakes."

She nodded. "I thought so." 

She said it so completely devoid of smugness and superiority, just… honest, like Georgiana always was, that he laughed. 

"What?" 

He did not fancy telling her that he was growing enormously fond of her at the same time he was being swept by desire for her. He checked his pocket watch. "Finish your food." 

Mercifully she complied. He sat back and tried to think rationally about the enormity of what he was doing. _Married_. To Georgiana. He was determined that it would not be a cold, ton marriage. They would share a bed. They would be faithful to one another. 

"I'm finished," she said. She stood up, prompting him to do so too. "I'd like to take a walk around before we get back in the carriage." 

"Certainly," he said. 

"By myself," she added. 

He stopped himself from taking her arm. It had become an automatic gesture over the last few days. He nodded — who was he to demand he go with her? — and waited by the carriage.

* * *

Georgiana needed time to _think_ , by herself, without Andrew in such close proximity eclipsing the rest of her thoughts. She wandered down the small lane circling the inn. The fresh country air helped her clear her mind, and she faced herself with the question she'd been ignoring for days: was she making the biggest mistake of her life?

It was not too late to turn around. If Violet hadn't said anything, as Georgiana rather suspected she hadn't, then she was sure Andrew would return her back to London if she asked. Her parents never had to know what she'd done, and she could go back to a life standing in ballrooms, endlessly assessing her options based on the tiniest information she could glean from the gentlemen around her. It was boring and she hated it, but at least there was a kind of safety in making an acceptable ton marriage. She and her husband could grow to love each other, like her parents had done. There would not be the hideous pressure for a happy marriage like there would be if she married Andrew. If her marriage with Andrew was unhappy… it would cast shadows over her family life. Billie would be heartbroken. Her mother, who was best friends with the Dowager Lady Manston, would too. 

Of course, the real danger was that her former infatuation with Andrew would turn into love, but he would not love her back. She was still accustoming herself to the fact that he was attracted to her. Although she was not foolishly ignorant about his licentiousness, she was quite sure he was not one of those men who was attracted to anything in skirts. But she had the horrible, sinking feeling that attraction would not be enough if she found herself in love with him. Everyone knew Lady Lefferts thought Sir Lawrence the greatest of all husbands, and everyone knew that Sir Lawrence had indulged in affairs almost from the day he was married. Georgiana was quite sure that Andrew would never humiliate her like that, but she would hate it if he was even so much as tempted to. She knew desire could not hold together a marriage. 

And yet, her newly-discovered recklessness seemed not to have abandoned her. She was marrying _Andrew Rokesby_. No matter how naive it had been, she had wanted him since she was fourteen years old. And now it was becoming a reality. 

The giddiness she felt from that swept away all her well-reasoned arguments against this hasty marriage, and she looked up to see Andrew leaning against the wall of the inn. 

Why was he always leaning?

He looked up as she approached. "Hello," she said, before he tugged her in for an firm kiss.

"What was that for?" she asked breathlessly, when they came apart. 

He leaned his forehead against hers. "In case you'd changed your mind."

She was still breathless. "I haven't," she said. Saying it made her realise how true it was. Impetuous, hasty, rebellious as this was, she couldn't bring herself to turn back from it. 

"Good," he said, so softly she strained to hear it. "Let's go."

* * *

Georgiana was sleeping again. She was on the opposite side of the carriage and leaned against the one pillow he'd had the good sense to bring on this trip. He studied the planes of her face, the light dimming as the sun slipped under the horizon, and thought about what the rest of his life looked like. 

A particularly bumpy point in the road shook her awake. She made an adorable muffled sound and blinked. "Where are we?" 

Andrew glanced outside. "Somewhere in Yorkshire, I should think," he said. "We'll be there by sunset tomorrow."

"Oh," she said. She sat up. "And then we just…" 

"Get married," he said. 

"Indeed," she said. 

He looked at her. Her lovely eyes were staring at the opposite side of the carriage wall. Andrew felt an uncomfortable kick of guilt in his stomach. He knew she knew he would be a kind husband to her, but no girl dreamt of a secret elopement with an uncomfortable carriage, with what was frankly a marriage of convenience waiting for her at the end of the three day journey. 

He shifted nervously. It would be a damned tricky thing to untangle if he had to, but he had to be damn sure she wanted this. 

"Are you — " he cleared his throat. "Are you sure about this?" 

Georgiana looked at him in her usual clear way. "Yes," she said. 

He persisted. "You can't come back from it," he said. "If you fancy another man you'll have to satisfy yourself with me." A thrill of possessiveness ran through his voice. "I won't let you go, you know." 

"Neither will I," she rejoined equably. 

He longed to pull her mind apart and to see what exactly had led her to this decision, that marrying him was the solution to her problems. "I can't be your only choice," he said. 

"I assure you I am not bowed over with suitors." 

"Are none of them better than a penniless third son?"

She wanted to scream that _no one_ was better than him. He was all she wanted. It was her silly girlish dream of him that had led her to turn down all her proposals, the shadowy possibility that she would be losing any chance of him. Now she almost had him, and he was acting as if he didn't want her to — as if he didn't want her. 

Her heart dropped. "If you don't want to marry me," she said, "I would rather you said it, than try covertly to influence me about what I want." 

"Dammit, Georgiana, that's not what I mean." 

"Isn't it?"

"No," he said evenly, though she could feel the tension vibrating in the air. "Of course I want to marry you. I stick to my decisions." 

"You make a lot of decisions lightly," she shot back. 

"I could say the same to you." 

"I have not — " Thankfully, her brain caught up to her mouth, and she stopped. She sucked in a breath. She was perilously close to confessing that she had loved him since she was fourteen, and where would that have got them? He would've returned her to London at once out of pity for the poor, undazzling girl in love with the most dashing man of her acquaintance. She did not want his pity. She'd spent a lifetime with people making decisions for her own good, and she was sick of it. 

"You know my reasons," she said. "Independence from my parents, freedom from the Marriage Mart, a home of my own. And I trust you most out of all the men I know." 

"Another reason you should've met more men," he said, but his tone had slid into something jovial and Georgiana knew that she had convinced him of her assurance. As for him, she believed he would keep his word.

* * *

Georgiana felt the exact moment they arrived in Scotland, because her heart thudded and she wondered if she might faint. 

"We're here," said Andrew, not as grimly as he would've liked. Somehow he'd imagined that they would've been attacked by a bear or at least besieged by highwaymen as they made their journey to Gretna Green. Neither of those things had happened. 

He helped her down the steps and steadied her on the uneven ground. Georgiana took a deep breath. They'd arrived at her favourite time of the day: early evening near midsummer, where the air seemed full of promise and chatter drifted through the streets. Usually at this time she'd be sat in her room reading by the open window. Today, she was getting married. 

She took out her purse. 

"What are you doing?" 

"I need a ring," she said. "I don't mind buying one here."

Andrew was appalled that his future wife thought he was such a poor provider that she would have to buy her own wedding ring. "I did come prepared for that," he said. He reached into his pocket and produced a ring wrapped in a cloth. It was not fashionable, he knew: it was silver and only held one stone. But he had been given it by an elderly man who had once been a jeweller in Florence in return for saving his life, and he'd had no use for it until now. And he thought jasper looked a lot like Georgiana's eyes. 

"It's beautiful," she said, trying to disguise the thickness in her throat. He moved to touch her hand, and she recoiled. "Don't put it on yet," she said. 

He laughed. "I'm eager." 

He bought her a bouquet of summer roses. They found a fisherman, who spoke with an accent so thick Georgiana had no idea what he was saying. Andrew seemed to understand though. He produced a bottle of whiskey from his overcoat pocket that served as payment for the ceremony, and Georgiana found herself standing opposite Andrew. The fisherman's wife and daughter were their witnesses. 

Mr MacDonald smiled jovially at them. "If m'lord and m'lady would be so good to state their name and age." 

"My name is Andrew Rokesby, and I am twenty-nine," said Andrew, feeling slightly absurd. He kept thinking about his sister Mary's wedding in the parish church, nearly a decade ago now. The vicar had spoken clearly. Mary had worn a new dress. They had been surrounded by people they loved. 

Here, he was stating his age in a small garden outside a Scottish fisherman's home. 

"Georgiana Bridgerton, twenty-two," said Georgiana. 

Mr MacDonald gave them an approving look. "And are ye free to be married?" 

"Yes," said Andrew. 

"Yes," said Georgiana. 

Andrew brought the ring out of his pocket. Georgiana didn't move her hand from her side until Mr MacDonald nudged her, and she jumped. "Oh!" she said. She brought her hand up, Andrew touched her wrist, and slid the ring on. It fit. 

"And now you're married," said MacDonald. Even Georgiana understood that bit, and privately wondered if their anvil priest could have a bit more poetry in his soul for performing a sacred rite. 

She turned to Andrew. "So — "

He caught her chin with his thumb and forefinger and turned her to him so he could kiss her. Georgiana blushed to think that the entire MacDonald household of Gretna Green, Scotland were watching this, but then his kiss grew more insistent and she wrapped her arms around him, and she stopped thinking about everything except Andrew. 

He broke away and she stifled a moan of protest. "I hope that was worth your while," he said to a bug-eyed Miss MacDonald and her smiling mother. 

"I hope you'll be very happy, sir, miss," said Mrs MacDonald. 

Miss MacDonald looked as if she might swoon. Georgiana couldn't blame her. Andrew did not at all look as if he had spent the last three days travelling. She felt a pang just from looking at how handsome he was, and then the thought struck her: he was now her husband. She was not going to stand by and have some hussy eye her husband as Miss MacDonald was doing right now. 

She reached for Andrew's arm and automatically he held it out for her. "Thank you for the ceremony," she said to Mr MacDonald. "It was very serviceable." 

Andrew choked back a laugh and led her out. 

"It's getting late," she said conversationally, as they walked. "We should retire." 

"Indeed," said Andrew.

Both felt that they were doing a remarkable job of seeming calm. Georgiana was buzzing with anticipation and terror. If Billie was right, then tonight would be wonderful, though she'd told Georgiana to expect a little pain. If everyone else was right, then this would be awkward, rather painful, but over soon. If it had been anyone else but Billie against the world, then Georgiana would not be doubting every piece of information she'd gleaned from overheard conversations and ballroom giggles. 

Andrew pushed open the door to the inn. "Would you like to dine downstairs, or shall I have them send up dinner?" 

Georgiana considered. If they dined downstairs, she'd definitely spend the whole meal distracted by thoughts of what would happen next. If they dined upstairs, she would do the same, but perhaps it would be easier to feign sleepiness without having to then transport oneself to the bedroom. 

"Send it up, please," she said. 

Andrew spoke to the innkeeper. At the foot of the stairs, Georgiana paused hopefully, and Andrew obliged by bending to pick her up, swinging her legs over one arm and cupping her lower back with the other. Inhibited, Georgiana giggled, and he looked down at her with an amused, fond smile. 

"Mrs Rokesby," he said. 

"Mr Rokesby," she replied. 

He set off on the stairs. When they reached the top, he made to put her down, and she made a protesting sound. 

"Over the threshold," she insisted. "Or it doesn't count." 

"As my lady commands," he said, and carried her into their room. She waited to be released.

"You can put me down now," she said after a few seconds. 

He set her on the bed, and suddenly the air in the room was heavy with promise and the unknown. 

She folded her hands in her lap. "When will dinner be up?" 

"Not for another half an hour," said Andrew. 

Georgiana nodded, sorely regretting her choice. 

He knelt in front of her. "Sweetheart," he said. "Georgiana."

"You should call me Georgie," she said in a rush, ignoring the jump her heart had made when he said 'sweetheart'. "Georgiana is such a mouthful." 

"All right," he said. He looked at her until her eyes stopped roving and met his. "You don't need to be scared. You said… you said Billie told you what to expect." 

Georgiana nodded. He could hardly expect her to speak on such an embarrassing topic. 

He kissed her softly and pulled back to look at her face. 

"You can tell me to stop any time," he said, tucking an escaped tendril of hair behind her ear. 

Georgiana took a deep breath, and kissed him back.

* * *

Andrew knew he probably should have waited until after dinner, until they were in bed and shielded in utter darkness, but the sun was making its steady descent and she looked so delectable that he thought he'd go insane if he had to wait another moment. Two nights sleeping near her without letting himself touch her had driven him to near madness, and when he'd kissed her today, even in front of the MacDonalds, he'd had to summon all his self-control to pull away before he took her in a fisherman's garden. 

He kissed her mouth until she was gasping and holding him to her, and then slowly he eased them back on the bed so her head hit the pillow. Then he turned his attention to her jaw, her neck, the skin behind her ear, and all the while he undid the buttons that held together her dress. 

He pulled it off carefully and her eyes shot open. "What are you doing?" 

"Undressing you," he said. "Why, don't tell me you're so unknowledgeable as not to know _that_." 

His teasing helped. She'd _show_ him how knowledgeable she was. She undid and pulled off his waistcoat and set to work on his cravat. 

"You'll strangle me if you keep doing it like that," he said. His warm hands covered hers and she felt the motions of him unknotting his cravat. "There," he said, and flung it aside. The collar of his shirt fell open and she couldn't resist touching the skin there. 

"Not your lips?" he murmured, and Georgiana leaned up to brush her lips against his throat. 

She didn't notice that her dress was already on the floor somewhere, along with her stays, and that she lay there in her chemise and stockings. Her shoes had fallen off at some point — she couldn't remember when. 

He kissed her again, full and deep, and Georgiana felt herself melt into it. As their mouths melded together other parts of her were brimming with sensation too, and she felt herself wishing for his touch on her body too. She made an agitated sound and pressed him closer, though now he was probably uncomfortable. Andrew lifted himself slightly so he could settle one leg between hers, and as she widened her legs his finger brushed her nipple. 

She arched into it. So far, Billie's information was proving to be correct. He flicked the rosy bud until she was sure it had grown swollen, and then he did the same thing to the other. 

She pulled her mouth away from his. "That feels nice," she said, breathless. 

He chuckled. "I'm glad." Then he bent his head and touched one rosy peak with his tongue, through her chemise, and she writhed against him shamelessly. 

On one level, she was shocked. Billie had never said anything about _this_ , and Georgiana was quite sure that this was awfully indecent. But mostly it felt so good that she didn't care. 

Whilst her brain was preoccupied with his mouth on her breast, his hand slid down, then up her chemise, to touch the place between her legs. 

"You're wet," he said, and Georgiana was gratified that his voice sounded lower than usual. His breath blew warm air over her nipple and his fingers skated over her sex, dipping into the moisture and spreading it over her — just not high enough. She moaned helplessly and instinctively widened her legs so she was shamelessly open before him. 

She had to say something, mortifying though it was. "Higher," she said desperately. "Andrew, _please_."

"Georgie," he said raggedly, "have you done this before?" 

She was so far lost in pleasure that she had no room for embarrassment. "To myself, yes," she said, the last word turning into a moan of pleasure as his finger _finally_ found the spot she needed it. 

"Excellent," he said, but his words came ragged too. With his other hand, he took hold of one of hers and guided it to her breast. "Touch yourself." 

Georgiana closed her eyes as she rolled her nipple between her thumb and forefinger, then brought up her other hand to do the same, without him even prompting. His thumb skating around her nubbin, he gave a groan of approval as she played with her pretty breasts, and rewarded her with a soft tap. Her legs shuddered in response. 

"Tell me how it feels," he said, his mouth still against her breast.

"Heavenly," she said, between moans. He dipped a finger inside her. 

"Now?" 

"I don't know how I can expand on — _oh_ ," she moaned, as he added another finger. "Oh, merciful — " she broke off and made a delicious, incoherent sound that went straight to his cock. He drew his fingers slowly out again, his thumb still working her in steady, teasing strokes. Then he slid them back in and she clamped herself around his fingers, moaning shamelessly as he spread them apart inside her. It was impossible to think of anything else but Andrew's hand against her, inside her. Her eyes had drifted closed but she forced them open, and the sight of her spread legs and his big hand over her most secret place drew her arousal to desperate heights. His slow, steady movements kept her in a haze of desire, and Georgie found herself grinding against his hand, trying desperately to increase the intensity of the sparks as his clever fingers drew in and out, teasing her to exquisite pleasure. 

" _Please_ ," she gasped, unaware of what she was pleading for, only that she would die if she continued to feel this much pleasure. Idly she felt her moisture all over his hand and halfway down her thigh, and wondered if she should be embarrassed. "I can't — _oh, it's so_ — "

"Do you want to come?" he asked her raggedly, his mouth against her breast. Her fingers had fallen away and rested lightly on her chest; his tongue darted out to lick her nipple and she made a sort of low scream. She had no idea what he meant but she supposed the answer was yes; anything was yes at this point. She nodded desperately, rubbing her thighs together, and he groaned loudly. 

"As my wife desires," he murmured against her breast. He thrust his fingers in again and his thumb tapped her nubbin faster, almost furiously, and she couldn't help but arch her hips into his touch. She pinched her nipples, wanting to intensify the pleasure, and at the same time his thumb pressed down at her centre, and suddenly something in her snapped. She buckled under his fingers as the pleasure cascaded, insensible words tripping out of her mouth. She lost all sense of space, time: anything that wasn't the incredible feeling flooding through her body. She felt his fingers still inside her and moving, guiding her through until the intended pleasure subsided into a wave of pleasant aftershocks. 

"What was that?" she asked reverently, when she'd recovered. 

Andrew smothered a laugh against her neck. At some point he had moved up her body. "I thought you said you'd given yourself pleasure before." 

"I _thought_ I had," she said. "But not like that." 

"You were right. I am good for something." 

She tried to put the words together to tell him not to joke about his worth, but everything sounded scolding or awkward. Instead she turned her mind to what was happening at present. 

"But you didn't — only I was being pleasured," she said, looking down at where his legs straddled hers. She decided to say something impetuous. "I want _both_ of us to feel it." 

"Sweetheart…" 

She ignored him and began undoing his breeches. She paused as she realised she had no idea what she was doing. Instead, she kissed him, feeling the desire spike in her again, and drew up her chemise before pulling it off. 

"Holy Christ," said Andrew, his eyes roving over her naked body, and soon he'd torn off his clothes and was leaning over her, utterly naked as well. 

His fingers trailed down her stomach to stroke her tender flesh again. She felt herself arching up into his touch, but he kept it soft and fleeting. 

"Still wet," he murmured. 

Georgiana writhed underneath him. His — she felt mortified to even be thinking the word — his _cock_ was so close to her entrance, and she was almost delirious with want. Her own fingers had never been enough when she'd touched herself, but she could imagine how he'd feel inside her, and… 

"Andrew, _please_." 

He gripped his cock and positioned himself at her entrance. 

"I want to feel you," she begged. 

His eyes almost rolled into the back of his head as he slowly pushed his cock into her. "Holy mother of God," he groaned. "You feel so good." 

Georgiana widened her legs, trying to adjust to the feel of him inside her. She had been right. He was much bigger than her fingers. She breathed deeply and told herself that any place that could accommodate a baby could very well accommodate a man's part. 

He inched forward slowly and she felt him slide deeper and deeper. It was strange, but not painful. 

"All right?" he asked. 

She nodded tightly. "Just… be slow." 

He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, which was nice, and kept going. Georgiana felt stuffed full. She felt him in places she didn't even know she could feel. Then he slid in the final inch, and groaned loudly. 

"Georgie," he said, his voice very deep. "Oh, God." 

Their hips nestled together, which felt shockingly intimate. She held her breath, afraid to move, and he was motionless, inside her. 

"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice still rather ragged. 

"Yes," she said. A pause. "Is this it? Because — _oh_." 

Instead of answering, Andrew decided to respond in motion. He moved inside her, almost pulling out completely, and smothered a laugh when she made a noise of protest. It was heaven to slide back in, to feel her tight and wet around him. He moved slowly at first, until her quiet gasps turned louder, less controlled. He brushed his thumb against her breast and found her hand already there. Groaning, and half losing his mind from the feel of her around him, he dragged her hand down to just above where they were joined. He sure as hell wouldn't be able to focus on anything else when he was thrusting into her, but she needed to climax.

Georgiana understood perfectly: taking her hand away from his, she began touching herself as his slow strokes became thrusts. 

" _Ohhhhh_ ," she said, when one thrust hit a particular spot inside her. She threw her legs around him, drawing him closer. "Andrew… please… _don't stop_ …" 

It was becoming harder and harder to hold on, but he forced himself to do it until he felt her tighten around him. He pinched her nipple and kissed her mouth desperately as he drove into her wildly. Then the dam broke and she was hurtling through the air, clinging desperately onto him, the breath being sucked out of her as she convulsed in raw shudders, incoherent moans spilling out of her. He was right behind her, chanting her name, his movements jerky and uncontrolled as he was swept into a tidal wave of pleasure. It went on and on… he gave a low moan as it subsided and kissed his way down her neck, overflowing with affection and satisfied desire. She giggled breathlessly, aware that he was still inside her. 

He slid out so she could lie against him. "How was that, Mrs Rokesby?" 

"Quite wonderful," said Georgiana. She sighed happily against him and was taken over by a yawn. "I'm sorry," she said, slapping a hand over her mouth. She yawned again. "I don't know — " 

"Sleep, sweetheart," he said, and shuffled her around so he could draw the covers over them. "I'll wake you when it's time."

* * *

The sun had flooded into the room when Georgiana awoke. Three nights of not sleeping in her bed had got her used to the rougher feel of an inn, but she still sat up confusedly. 

Then she felt a very sure ache between her legs, and last night came flooding back, in all its wonder and pleasure. 

She looked around. Andrew didn't appear to be in the room, although there was a breakfast tray a few feet away. Her stomach rumbled and she sighed, before forcing herself out of the warmth of the bed. She saw that there was a folded sheet of paper on the tray, and she picked it up. 

_Sweetheart —_

_Sorry I didn't wake you for dinner. You looked too peaceful. I've gone to speak to the coachman. Take all the time you need._

_AR_

Georgiana wondered if speaking to the coachman took so much time that Andrew felt he needed to leave a note to explain his absence. "Or perhaps he wishes to give me some privacy," she said aloud. "And take some for himself." They had been cooped out in each other's company for three whole days now; they sorely needed time alone. 

She breakfasted on a buttered muffin and thought about what would happen now. She was married, and that was irrevocable — they had both made sure of that last night. So now, she supposed, they would make the journey back to London, where they would begin life together. Perhaps they would have children. They would be like his or her siblings, married and in — _love_. 

Oh, good heavens. 

She was terrified that she was really, truly, falling in love with her husband. She was so terrified of it that in her heart she knew it had already happened. She could hardly have expected anything else when she entered into marriage with the man she'd been infatuated with almost half her life, but she'd dared to hope that he would fall in love with her too. But he clearly had not. His note this morning, though tender, was not exactly full of love. He had never spoken to her of love, or devotion, or even his feelings towards her. Men were apparently incurably slow in these things, but Georgiana felt that if Andrew would ever love her, he would be nearing the time by now. She had been in love with him for years and years, and he had only taken notice when she had written him to meet her at the park and in what must have been a fit of insanity, proposed marriage. 

She realised now how much she wanted it: not just the independence of marriage, but what Billie and George had, what Edward and Cecilia had, what Edmund and Violet had. And she realised that if he knew how she felt, and did not feel the same, she would be destroyed. 

She drank her tea and breathed deeply. Her heart was shattered but at least her pride was still intact. She would cling onto that for as long as she could.

* * *

Andrew saw Georgiana as she descended the stairs. He caught her hand in his. She recoiled slightly and he drew back. 

He searched her face, but it remained passive, unreadable. 

She fiddled with something on her dress. He dismissed her coldness as a figment of his imagination. 

"So," he said conversationally, as they strolled out. "Where to now, my wife?" 

She gave him a look. "London, I presume." 

"Right-o," he said. 

She didn't say anything for the first hour of the carriage ride. Andrew had tried to catch her eye but realised she likely needed time alone with her thoughts. She'd just been deflowered, for God's sake, and he was the randy bastard who wanted to do it again. In a carriage, no less. 

He shut his eyes and tried to rest.

* * *

They passed the day in meditative silence. Georgiana seemed unwilling to talk and Andrew didn't want to push her, so he spent more hours than he had ever done in his life staring at the English countryside. 

They stopped for the night in Liverpool. After a dinner where neither said much, they went upstairs. 

He hadn't persisted in conversation because he was confident this, at least, would keep them connected. He would've staked his life on the fact that she had enjoyed their lovemaking — the mere thought of her tightening around him last night was enough to make him hard. Though she had barely said two words to him today, he knew he could make her say a lot more under the covers. He had a good few ideas of what to do there as well… 

He came up behind her as she went into the room. He wrapped his arms around her waist and bent to whisper in her ear, "I've been waiting for this all day." 

She didn't lean back into his embrace as he had hoped. Instead, she stiffened, and turned around. Andrew stepped back, concerned.

"I am tired," she said. "I am not used to journeying for four continuous days."

He supposed that made sense. And moreover, they had a lifetime to explore each other in the bedroom. 

Still, something nagged at him. She had responded so enthusiastically yesterday, and now she was utterly cold. He was almost hurt that she wouldn't let him in, but what was he to do? Her serious, level gaze could make him open up; he had no such weapon at his disposal. 

"Georgie," he said softly, testing out the nickname again and finding he rather liked it. "Sweetheart. If this is because I wasn't there when you woke up, I thought you would appreciate the privacy. I don't want to stick to you like a stray dog," he added lightly. 

So now he thought being a devoted husband was like being a stray dog! Georgiana smiled stiffly. "It's not about that," she said, and that wasn't even a lie. "I really am just tired." 

She relaxed in relief when Andrew didn't push the point further. "All right," he said. He settled himself into bed and let deepen the pit at the bottom of his stomach. It was unpleasant for his wife to shut him out. Unpleasant, and surprisingly hurtful. What sort of husband was he going to be if his wife felt she could not confide in him? He reviled against the thought of his marriage being distant. He wanted Georgie to trust him, to show herself fully, to want to tell him everything —

He stopped himself. He was making a lot of demands on her heart, and what right had he to do that? They were entering into dangerous territory when he wanted to know everything about her. For God's sake, they had only been married two days. There was no reason to be so obsessed with his wife. He couldn't think what had happened to him.

* * *

But by the third night, he had had enough. If she wouldn't talk she wouldn't talk, but he knew for a fact that she had enjoyed their physical intimacy. They could at least have that. 

"You're not telling me the truth," he said flatly. They were in Surrey and had one day left before they got back to London and unleashed a storm on their families, and indeed all of the ton. Georgiana knew she had used the same excuse too many times, and moreover, Andrew knew her. He'd know when she was lying. She strongly suspected he'd known since the first night, and was just humouring her until she confessed the truth. This, though, she had no intention of doing. 

"What do you mean?" she asked, refashioning her hair into something suitable for sleeping in. 

He bent down and kissed her fiercely. She moved into it automatically before her mind recovered and she remembered she would not give any more of herself to him. "No," she said weakly, pushing him away. 

He straightened and stepped away. " _T_ _hat_ ," he said. "I know you want me, sweetheart. I just can't figure out why you keep refusing yourself — refusing both of us." He ran a hand through his hair. "It's not doing either of us any good." 

Georgiana had prepared herself for this conversation. She took a deep breath. "I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want to hurt you." 

"It hurts me more when you don't trust me enough to tell me," he said. 

Her heart gave a treacherous lurch at his tender words. She forced it to still. "I keep pulling away, because — because I don't want to have children. At least not so soon." 

She'd thought of this excuse while they were in Coventry and had been quite proud, in what she supposed was a perverted sort of way. But surely he would not force her to have children against her will. He knew the risks as much as she did. Childbirth had claimed the life of Lady Douglas just last month. It was a perfectly sensible thing to fear. 

Georgiana watched in dismay as Andrew's expression relaxed into a smile. "That's all? You should have said so sooner. We wouldn't have wasted two whole nights." 

"What do you mean?" asked Georgiana, panicked. 

He pulled her up and led her towards the bed. "I'll show you." 

Oh, now this was too risky. Georgiana had no idea what was happening, but from Andrew's grin she was quite sure this was some variation on lovemaking her naïve, coddled self had no idea about. She was furious with herself for not giving into temptation and borrowing _Fanny Hill_ from the lending library two months ago. 

She wondered if she could play the terrified virgin, before remembering that card had lapsed for three days now. 

"I don't like to not know what I'm getting myself into," she said. 

"You eloped with me," Andrew pointed out. "That was about a leap in the dark as anything." 

Georgiana made to respond, but her attention turned to the fact that she had been eased back onto the bed, and that Andrew stood very close in front of her. 

"Be that as it may," she said steadily, "this is different." 

"I'll tell you what to do," he said. "First, kiss me back." 

Georgiana did. She'd felt her resistance ebbing from the moment he'd started speaking. Sleeping in the same bed every night without touching had been perfectly miserable. She knew she would be miserable when it was over too, but how could she think of anything else when his hand was skimming up her thigh and pulling her chemise to her waist? 

"Now lie back," he said, and she did it. She felt his hand making its way up her thigh again, and she remembered that this was how it had started the first time. She was filled with anticipation as the first stroke of his fingers came on her folds. She gasped softly as he played, and gently parted them.

Then he bent his head. 

"What are you — " she started to say, but then she felt the first flick of his tongue against her and almost leapt off the bed. He smothered a laugh against her inner thigh and eased her legs further open. 

"Oh _God_ ," Georgiana moaned helplessly. " _Please_." She pushed herself up against his mouth and thrashed wildly. "Andrew, I can't — " She was an idiot for thinking she could resist him. " _Oh, God in heaven_ …" If he kept doing this, there would be no end to the things she'd promise. 

He looked up at her, grinned, and she was almost embarrassed by the way she glared at him and snapped, " _More_." 

"Happy to oblige," he said, and his head dipped and she was suffused again in a fog of pleasure. His tongue was _inside_ her, stroking along her inner walls. Acting on instinct, she slid her hand down and touched herself just above where he was. Andrew smothered a laugh against her thigh. 

"We should switch," he said. 

Before she knew entirely what was happening, he'd brought his hand up and was leading hers down, coaxing a finger to slide into her entrance. She did as he wanted. Then he spread her flesh and laid his lips around her nubbin, and she bucked her hips into his mouth. 

She lay there, gasping and moaning with abandon, as his tongue flicked, swirled, pressed and stroked, and she felt herself spiralling higher and higher. This was how she'd felt both times the other night too. With a growl she felt deep in her bones, Andrew thrust his tongue inside her and she came apart, gasping his name as her vision erupted into a field of stars. His mouth never left her as she rocked her hips gently through the aftershocks. After one final stroke of the tongue, he rolled her on her side so she could face him, and she saw his self-satisfied smirk. 

"Didn't I say I'd show you?" he asked. 

At once, all the confused feelings of pride and fear and love came flooding back to her. "Yes," she said, not as coldly as she would've liked. "That was… very nice." 

She was sure that would irk him, even offend him, but he just laughed and pulled her closer. "My uneffusive wife," he said warmly. "What a satisfaction it is to make you lose restraint."

* * *

They arrived in London the next evening. Georgiana had wanted to go to Edmund and Violet's townhouse, but Andrew had said he'd be damned if he was ever driven to live off his wife's relations. Georgiana had pointed out that Edmund was technically his relation too, as his sister was married to Andrew's brother, but that didn't seem to persuade Andrew — if anything, it made him more obstinate. 

At any rate, it didn't matter, because Andrew insisted he needed fresh clothes so they went to Manston House where most of his few remaining possessions were, and Georgiana insisted on going with him, and the worst sort of luck befell them because the young Lord Kennard, looking out of the window for God knows what reason, screamed: "Uncle Andrew! Aunt Georgiana!" only he said Georg-ana, and Billie Rokesby, never one for formality, took one look out of _her_ window before flying down the stairs to open the door. 

"What are _you_ two doing here?" she exclaimed, enveloping them both in a hug. "And why are you together?" 

Georgiana looked at Andrew. 

He cleared his throat. "May we come inside?" 

"Of course," said Billie, ushering them into the drawing room. 

George appeared as Andrew and Georgiana sat dawn. "Billie?" he said. "What's — oh. Good evening."

Georgiana thought everyone in the house would be able to hear her heartbeat. Automatically she reached for Andrew's hand, and he clasped hers in it.

Happenstance meant that Andrew had sat on Georgiana's left. Enough candles had been lit that they threw light in scattered directions, and one ray hit the ring on Georgiana's finger. 

George looked between Andrew, Georgiana and their joined hands. "Dear God," he said. "You don't mean to say — "

Billie's eyes grew wide as saucers. "You didn't go to Kent?" she said weakly to Georgiana. Then she seemed to regain some of her strength, because she turned to Andrew and demanded fiercely, "You didn't go to Bath?" 

"Ah, er, no," said Andrew. 

Georgiana steeled her nerves. "We're married." 

"I should hope so," said George finally. He gave them a stern look to cover up his underlying shock. "Does anyone else know?" 

"George, don't be such a patriarch," said his wife. She turned to the newlywed couple. "I thought there was something between you! It's so lovely to be right. But an elopement? Really?" 

She didn't sound disapproving at all, and Georgiana felt a rush of love for her sister. "The priest had a very thick accent." 

"Oh, God, a priest," said George, his Protestant English sensibilities being roughly shaken by this whole evening. 

Billie swatted his arm. "Tell me _everything_. Was it just luck that Violet invited you to Kent? No, of course not, you've always been secretly devious." She gave Georgiana an affectionate grin. "I'm very proud of you." 

Georgiana expected George to say something reproving, but he just sighed. 

"How about me?" demanded Andrew. "I tricked you too." 

"You," said Billie, prodding him in the shoulder with one determined finger, "do not get the same response. Did you coerce my sister into marrying you? Did you trick her with professions of love, only for them to be false?" 

_No_ , thought Georgiana, _that hadn't been necessary. She could fall for imagined professions of love all by herself._

"Billie," she sighed out loud. "You only just praised my deviousness. Do you really think I would be coerced into marrying someone?" 

Billie frowned in the face of this impenetrable logic. "I suppose not," she said. 

George was summoning a servant and pressing a piece of paper into his hand. 

"What are you doing?" asked Andrew. 

"Telling mother," he said. "Georgiana, do your parents yet know?" 

"No," said Georgiana dully. "I suppose I should." 

Billie grimaced.

* * *

Somehow Georgiana manipulated events so that she went up to bed much earlier than Andrew. The exhaustion of the journey, plus Billie's overwhelming personality led her to collapse with relief onto the lovely goose down.

She must've slept for hours and hours, because when she woke it was bright outside and the house was unfamiliarly quiet. The children must've gone out. 

As she performed her morning ministrations, she rang the bell, and minutes later Billie swanned in with a tea tray. 

"Oh, good, you're awake," she said, settling down the tray and sinking into a chair. "Your new husband has taken the children to the park. I think he would've preferred to wait for you to wake, but Sarah has an admirable way of forcing anyone to do her bidding." 

"Inherited from you, I should think," said Georgiana dryly. 

Billie grinned at her. "George always says so. He doesn't disapprove of you and Andrew, you know. He told me last night that he thought you were always a good influence on him." 

"Wonderful," said Georgiana, sipping tea. Being around Billie always seemed to draw out her sarcastic side. "The prime duty of a wife." 

Billie shot her a glare. "George didn't mean that, and you know it." Georgiana knew she was being unfair; through seven years married to Billie, George had long shown he did not give a twig for dutiful wives. "And I agreed with him, and said Andrew was always a good influence on _you_ too." 

"He is?" Georgiana asked doubtfully. 

"Of course," said Billie. "He prompted you to finally break free from our parents, didn't he?" 

"I suppose," said Georgiana. 

Billie patted her shoulder. "But love is more than an exchange. Loving someone brings you together. You're a team against everything else in the world." 

Georgiana swallowed. She might be able to lie to Andrew to protect herself, but she didn't know if she could lie to her older sister. 

"Georgie?" Billie asked. "Have I missed something?" 

"It's not a love match," she said. 

Billie went very still. "I see." 

"Though I suppose from my side it is," said Georgiana bitterly. 

"Oh," said Billie. "Oh, Georgie, are you sure? I can't imagine why he would've said yes if he didn't — men are so obtuse sometimes, and they forget to say things — "

"He's penniless," said Georgiana. "You can't tell anyone, not even George. Andrew would be furious if he knew. But he invested most of what he had in a friend's shipping company, only the ship was hit by horrid weather, so he's lost it all. I couldn't bear him marrying some other rich girl so I told him to meet me in the park and I said I'd marry him, and he agreed. I thought I was so clever. I had no idea it would — that it would hurt this much." 

Billie always gave the best hugs. Georgiana sobbed freely into her sister's shoulder. "I've made such a terrible mistake," she said. "But I was just — I was surrounded by happily married couples. You and George — Edmund and Violet — Cecilia and Edward — I couldn't bear staying at home and not doing anything. Then Andrew told me he'd lost all his funds, and I thought — I thought I was helping him too. He doesn't know I've been infatuated with him for years." She gave a hiccuping laugh. "Or maybe it was always love. I don't know. It certainly is now." 

It helped to tell it all to Billie, but Georgiana knew that afterwards, Billie would go to her loving husband and little brood, and Georgiana could not. 

"Are you so sure he isn't hiding his love from you too?" Billie asked. "Have you asked him?" 

"No," said Georgiana, muffled. 

"Don't you think you should?" 

Georgiana pulled back. "And risk the humiliation of hearing he doesn't love me back?" 

"Yes," said Billie bluntly. "Because also he could, and that would be wonderful." 

Georgiana sighed. "I hate it when you are right."

* * *

Lord and Lady Bridgerton, along with the Dowager Lady Manston, came to call that afternoon. Andrew had just returned from the park but there was not enough time for Georgiana to make her confession and hope to heaven that he felt the same way. They waited together in the drawing room, with Billie and George as reinforcements, and then their parents swept in. 

"Georgiana, how _could you_ — " began her mother. "Do you know how dangerous the roads are? You could've had a proper wedding — there was no need to risk your life flying across the country into _Scotland_ — " here she gave a rather offensive shudder — "to be married by some illiterate blacksmith. And _you_ !" she said, turning on Andrew. "How _dare_ you take my daughter — "

" _Elinor_ ," said the dowager countess. "My son and your daughter are equally guilty." 

"My lady, to answer your question," said Andrew, and Georgiana felt that he was about to say something outrageous, "Georgiana _does_ know how dangerous the roads are, having spent seven days on them."

Lady Bridgerton sank down onto the sofa. 

"Mother, I'm fine," said Georgiana, feeling guilty that she had put her mother through an awful shock. "Really. Andrew took good care of me." 

That last sentence wasn't particularly true and in fact slightly self-infantilising, but it seemed to calm Lady Bridgerton, who after all had always liked Andrew. 

"But why an _elopement_?" Lady Bridgerton moaned. Georgiana looked pleadingly at her father, who had remained silent since entering the room. "You could have had a lovely wedding," her mother continued, "at St George's, with all of society watching on." 

A flash of inspiration struck Georgiana. "But I didn't want that, Mother." She laced her fingers with Andrew's and hoped that said enough. 

Lady Bridgerton saw the movement and sighed. "Oh, I can't be angry when you're so happy, dear." 

Georgiana tried not to grimace. 

"Anyway, this is wonderful timing," said Lady Manston. "Now I shall have an excuse for my ball tonight. We shall say it is in your honour, and once everyone sees how in love you two are, all will be forgiven." 

Georgiana fought to urge to meet Andrew's eyes. If he looked shocked or ashamed, she'd know exactly what he felt, and she would _not_ break down in front of half of her family. 

"Thank you, my lady," she said. "It would be an honour."

* * *

The last time he had been at a ball with Georgiana, he'd confessed a secret he'd thought he'd take to the grave. This time, he was prepared for something equally monumental. 

They'd danced the first dance together. Then they'd stood together as various members of the ton stopped by and offered congratulations, advice and unsolicited opinions. He squeezed Georgiana's hand whenever someone said something particularly awful; old Mrs Thumbwhistle whispered very loudly to Georgiana that if she let her husband do his business, in time the suffering would pay off and he'd find somewhere else to spend himself. 

"Lord Henry," said Georgiana, smiling as a handsome fop bowed before them. "What a delight." 

"It is the opposite for me," he said, clutching his heart in a way that straddled the line between politely heartbroken and melodramatic. He turned to Andrew. "Well, Rokesby, you've won her. My lady, allow me a consolation dance at least." 

Andrew was not particularly enthused by the idea of this gentleman — good-looking enough, if you liked that sort of thing — dancing with Georgiana, but he didn't think she would be either. "Sweetheart?" he asked, laying a hand possessively on her arm. 

To his surprise and horror, she smiled at Lord Henry, and said: "You do me too much credit. It would be a pleasure." 

Andrew threw a genial smile over his face, which he was sure had lapsed into some unbecoming scowl. "Don't let me keep you," he said, trying to disguise the malice in his voice. What on earth was wrong with him? She was perfectly entitled to dance with whomever she liked. This was, after all, a ball. He felt a flash of irritation that his mother hadn't arranged some nice musicale instead, where he could sit next to Georgiana the whole evening and whisper things in her ear. They hadn't been alone for… he calculated, and was dismayed to find that it only came to a day. But there were all her silences on the journey back from Gretna Green, so he counted those as well. That brought it up to four days. 

They hadn't spoken properly in four days, and he missed her like mad. 

He didn't like the feeling or thoughts he got when he watched Georgiana dance with Lord Henry, so he turned away, only to almost walk into George. 

Wonderful. "Good evening, George." 

"Andrew." George tipped his head. "Enjoying the night?" 

Andrew found himself watching his wife again and snapped his eyes away. "As much as can be hoped," he said. He paused, then decided the sacrifice to his dignity was worth it. "Say, who's that fop dancing with my wife?" 

George looked dispassionately over the sea of dancers. "Lord Henry Blackshears? Son of the Duke of Harwell. I believe he proposed to Georgiana last month." 

The buzz of irritation in Andrew sparked up into simmering anger. "He _what_?" 

"Obviously, she declined," said George helpfully. 

"She bloody well did, and I'll make sure she remembers," said Andrew, and prepared to storm off. George caught his arm and pulled him back. 

"Do not humiliate her by being unable to control your primitive instincts," he said calmly. "You are being embarrassingly possessive." 

Of course he was being possessive. She was his wife, for God's sake, and she was dancing with her former — and, God knows, probably present too — admirer, suitor, whatever. He and Georgie had barely spoken since their wedding, and now they were back in London surrounded by sons of dukes who had fancied her not long ago. They should have stayed home tonight, and spent some much-needed time alone together. 

When the dance was over, he marched over and swept Georgiana away. 

"You didn't tell me he _proposed_ to you," he said. 

"I refused him," said Georgiana. "You needn't be worried I'll make a cuckold out of you." 

"Dammit, Georgie, that's not why I'm angry!" 

"Then why are you?" she asked calmly. 

"Because you're my wife, dammit, and not his!" 

She bit back an incredulous laugh. "That makes you _angry_?"

"You're not listening to what I'm saying," he said, his voice dropping back to a normal decibel, and Georgiana felt a strange lurch at the accusation. He dropped his hand over his face. "I'm sorry. I just… we haven't been alone together in so long, and I miss you." He leaned in to whisper in her ear: "Don't you miss me too?" 

Georgiana sucked in a breath. No one seemed to be watching them, but this was wildly inappropriate all the same. "Andrew," she murmured, "we're at a ball. Held in _our_ honour." 

"My mother will forgive us," he said. Her hand was in his, and he traced delicate circles over her palm. "Sweetheart, just an hour alone together… or two…" 

Georgiana made a decision. "All right. Let's go." 

He spurred into action. "You go first. I'll meet you in the library in five minutes." 

Georgiana nodded and turned away. She made her excuses and graceful smiles as she left the ballroom and went down the corridor to the library. Thankfully it was empty. She wedged a chair against the door — she couldn't imagine the humiliation if someone else walked in to find her here, just before Andrew entered — and lit a few candles before sitting down on the sofa. 

She sighed. Andrew might think they were about to have a secret assignation, but she knew it would drive her insane if she didn't tell him the truth of how she felt. Billie was right. She had to do it. 

It couldn't have been five minutes when she heard a knock at the door, and opened it to find Andrew standing there. 

"I couldn't wait," he said breathlessly, and strode forward to kiss her. 

"Wait," she said, locking the door and turning to face him. "I have to say something." 

"All right," he said cautiously. "But be quick." 

She closed her eyes briefly. "Do you know why I turned down Lord Henry?" 

"Oh, for the love of — " he sighed. "I promise you, I'm not jealous any more." He brushed a curl behind her ear. "Not when we're alone." 

She swallowed and forced herself to continue. "I wish you would be," she flung out impulsively. 

"Jealous?" He looked bewildered. "Why?" 

Nothing seemed to work. Georgiana looked at him, standing before her, and he was so handsome it almost hurt. "I didn't love him," she continued. 

"I surmised," he said. 

Frustration ran through her. "Because I loved someone else." 

Hurt and confusion struck his face. "Sweetheart, if marrying me was your way of hurting this unknown man — "

"It was _you_!" she almost screamed. "I've always — ever since I was fourteen — loved you. I thought I was just infatuated, but now that I know…"

"What?" he said, and all the fragile hope she'd been building inside of her for the last eight years crashed down. 

She steeled her nerves, lifted her chin, and spoke as if her heart hadn't just been broken. "I will not do myself the further loss of dignity by repeating my confession of love to a man who does not return those feelings."

"For God's sake, Georgie, what the hell do you know of my feelings?"

"A _damn_ lot!" she screamed, half-shocked that she'd sworn, half propelled forward by the force of it. "I know you better than you know yourself, Andrew Rokesby. If, after my dowry has cushioned your fall, you want to go back to the navy — " He hadn't mentioned this at all since their elopement, but she seemed to have no control of what she was saying — "because you want to prove yourself to a family who already loves you no matter what you'd do — if you didn't have so much _pride_ and self-importance you'd see that there's no need to prove yourself to anyone. There's no need to prove yourself to me." 

For once in his life, he couldn't find the right words. 

"We're all so proud of you," said Georgiana, and he had never heard those words said so bitterly. "Almost as much as we love you. I don't expect you to love me, but I can't help that I love you. I'm sorry. I should've told you before you married me."

She was apologising for loving him, he thought dazedly. His wife loved him, and he didn't know what to do.

She waited for a second, then quietly turned the lock and slipped out.

* * *

Georgiana stalked out of the library and found Billie. 

"I have a headache," she lied. She touched her forehead in what she hoped was at least somewhat convincing. "Could I take your carriage back home?" 

It was clear Billie did not believe her at all, but nevertheless she nodded. "Only, Georgie," she said. "Where is home for you?" 

It was a simple question that almost had her in tears. "I don't know," she said miserably. "I thought it could be Andrew, but for heaven's sake, we don't even have a place of our own. Just… take me to Manston House." 

Billie nodded. Somehow she found George in the crowd, because seconds later he was coming towards them. 

"Will you be all right with a hackney tonight? Georgiana isn't feeling well, so I'm going to take her back to Manston." 

George gave her a scrutinising look, but mercifully didn't ask about Andrew. "Of course, my love," he said, and pressed a kiss to Billie's cheek. "I'll tell my mother you've gone." 

"Come on," said Billie, and led Georgiana out to the carriage, successfully bypassing Ladies Manston and Bridgerton. 

In the carriage, Georgiana broke down. 

"I don't know what to do," she said weepily. "I can't make him love me, can I?" 

"Shh," said Billie consolingly. "He'll come to his senses." 

"I wish I hadn't — I was so _stupid_ ," said Georgiana. "I wasn't thinking. I wasn't practical. I thought for once if I took a risk — "

"He's an idiot," said Billie fiercely. 

"He _is_ ," said Georgiana. "But so am I for loving him."

* * *

Andrew sorely wished his mother had a secret drinking habit, because right now he really could've done with a tumbler of brandy. Or two. 

It had taken him a confounded two minutes to snuff out the candles and figure out the door. He hadn't been in his mother's library since she'd moved here when his father died four years ago. When he'd made his way back to the ballroom, he couldn't see Georgiana anywhere. 

George, though, was coming towards him. 

"Where is she?" he demanded. 

George gave him his disapproving, Fifth Earl of Manston look. "Who?" 

George knew perfectly _well_ whom Andrew was looking for. "My wife," Andrew bit out. "I need to tell her something before I am too late." 

For all his autocratic bullheadedness, George did seem to comprehend this. "Well, in that case, she's gone back to Manston House. With Billie." 

With _Billie_. Hell and damnation, Andrew dreaded to imagine what Billie would do to him if she thought he'd broken her sister's heart. He needed to be with Georgie now, and he had been an idiot to fear what that need had meant. 

"Tell Mother something came up," he said, and dashed out of the ballroom.

* * *

When Georgiana arrived at Manston House, all she wanted to do was curl into a ball and feel sorry for herself. Billie graciously lent her the countess's bedroom, which had gone unused since Billie and George's installation as lord and lady of the house. She dismissed the maid and lay down on the bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, her tears dried out. Tomorrow she would face this with dignity. She would talk to Andrew again, and she'd pretend that she'd said nothing, and they would live together like any other married couple. Or, failing that, she'd run away to Kent and stay with Edmund and Violet until her heart put itself back together. 

She heard a knock at the door. 

She didn't respond. If it was a maid, they'd know to leave. Perhaps it was Billie, but Billie had agreed to leave Georgiana alone. 

They knocked again, more insistently this time. Georgiana sat up, threw on a wrap, and marched to the door. 

Andrew stood there. 

She was so shocked she didn't have time to shut the door as she'd intended, and he took advantage of her lapse in senses to barge in and close the door behind them. 

"I — "

"Why did you run off?" he asked softly. 

Georgiana swallowed. "Because I wanted to hide. Why are you here?" 

"Because I want to talk to you. You were right about everything, you know. In the library." 

So he _didn't_ love her back. "Is that all?" she asked, too tired to be hurt any more. 

He looked pained. _Good_ , she thought viciously. "No, Georgie — I'm not very good at this." 

Well, he was right. He wasn't. She wasn't going to comfort his insecurities when they were true. 

He sucked in a breath. "All my life, I've wanted to be independent. I was proud of making captain. I didn't rely on my family any more than I had to, and I was proud of that too." 

"I know," said Georgiana, because she really couldn't think of anything else to say. 

"You do," he agreed warmly. "But I think you also know the problem with that." 

"Is this a _test_?" 

"I'm better with you," he said. She froze. Satisfied, he continued. "You demand things from me no one else ever has, probably because they didn't think I'd be capable. You dragged me into your complex madcap plan to elope and we did it so well that no one had any idea what had happened until it was all over. I'm honest around you, because when I say something outrageous and untrue you give me that clear-eyed look that could see through stone, and I fold like a bad hand. You've always unsteadied me. It took me this long to realise that was something I needed, and even longer to realise it was something I wanted." 

Georgiana had begun Andrew's speech with her arms folded and so tired of it all she was barely listening; by the end she was clinging onto every word. 

"I see," she said thickly. Her heart was beating very fast. 

"Do you?" he asked. "I wanted to say you're my anchor, but that would be an unforgivably bad metaphor from a former sea captain. So instead I'll say I love you, though I've no idea how that could be enough."

"It is," said Georgiana, her voice trembling. Her arms crept up around his neck and she kissed him tenderly. "Of course it is." 

"Thank God," he said, between kisses. "I don't know how else I'd be worthy of you."

* * *

They were all in Kent for the christening. Benedict Bridgerton, the newest addition to the clan, was currently being cooed over by Billie and Sarah. 

Georgiana smiled at Violet and Edmund as they came to stand next to her and Andrew. "I suppose the naming pattern has been secured now?" 

Violet nodded. "If my seventh child is a girl," she said, "I'm going to name her Georgiana."

Andrew clapped a gulping Edmund on the back as Georgiana turned to Violet, deeply touched. "You would?" 

"Of course," said Violet. "You would be her godmother too. Any woman who concocts such a devilishly simple elopement plan is one I shall be proud to entrust the care of my child."

Georgiana sighed as Andrew laughed. "I do wish everyone would stop teasing me about that." 

"Not a chance," said Andrew, kissing the top of her head with affectionate. "You are remarkable." 

On the other side of the room, Sarah had done something to make Benedict cry. Violet immediately went to him and Edmund followed. 

Andrew stroked Georgiana's palm idly. 

"Remember when you told me you didn't want children because you were afraid you'd love me too much if we didn't stop our marital relations?" 

Georgiana gave her husband a look. "I don't pretend not to have my less remarkable moments. But how do you feel about children?"

Andrew's spine straightened. "Do you know something I don't?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. "As if I would tell you so circumspectly."

This pleased him greatly, because it gave him a perfect chance to lean in and whisper in her ear: "I suppose we'll have to start trying harder."

Because Andrew had no sense of the proper place for saying such things, Georgiana blushed delicately. "We're in public," she said, not really protesting. 

"I know," he said. He bent to whisper in her ear: "I love you." 

Now, that could hardly go without a kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this madly niche fic! Comments would be darling xo


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